The Bleach Noir
by Cochrane
Summary: Matsumoto has finally done some of her paperwork, but Hitsugaya-taichou has a few issues with her report. For example, he is not actually a private detective.
1. The Job

**"MATSUMOTO!"**

Hitsugaya Toushiro sprinted through the tenth division's building, a stack of paper in his hand. It was by no means an unusual sight for the seated officers and soldiers, who had long ago learned when to take his actions seriously and when not. In fact, they probably knew it better than Hitsugaya himself, he sometimes thought.

Normally, they would stay out of the way, and that was that. The captain was not angry at them, if he was actually angry at all. They would not say where Matsumoto Rangiku was, and he would not ask them. It was not like it mattered, because everyone knew that you could not fit a sheet of paper between captain and vice captain whenever it actually counted.

Today, though, it was different. Hitsugaya was beyond furious, and the shaking officers did their very best to help him find his second-in-command, or at least a place far away from them. There was a fire in his eyes. This might have been what Aizen had seen when the two fought.

He found her in his office. Apparently, she had slipped in while he was out searching for her. Yet another waste of time he would add to her list.

"Yes, captain? What is the matter?" she said innocently enough. But the look in her eyes told him everything. She knew what he was angry about, and she was loving it.

"It's about your so-called 'report'," he said. "What on earth were you thinking?"

He slammed the stack of paper down in front of her, but she did not even look at it.

"I don't understand, captain. It was on time and very thorough. I thought you'd like it if I showed more initiative with the paperwork for once."

She wasn't even trying to hide her grin anymore. Sometimes, he could see why she and Gin had been close. There was none of that bastard's malice in her, but she sure loved playing with people. Specifically, her captain.

"It's all lies," he said, although he knew that he was just playing into her hands. Why couldn't she be like the other members of tenth division and cower at his rage?

"Now, that is a strong word," said Matsumoto. "I may have… embellished some things, but only to make tenth division look better. I did it for you, captain! All the other divisions are prettying up their reports, too, so we can't be left behind. I'll tell you what: How about we read through it together, and you point out any areas that are inaccurate, okay?"

Hitsugaya knew that he should have said "No". It was not like this text could be fixed. Matsumoto would have to prepare a new report, without any 'embellishment'. But for some reason, he hesitated. Actually, he had only read the first page, and even though he should have known better, he wanted to find out what else was in there.

Matsumoto saw his hesitation, and she knew how to interpret it correctly. He could tell by the way she grinned. Oh well, no use trying to back out now. If his vice captain really wanted something, then nothing would stop her.

"I'm going to regret this…" he mumbled as he started on the first page.

* * *

Too much smoke and not enough light. That was my office in a nutshell. I guess a poet would say that it was a metaphor for my entire life, but poetry pays even less.

It was a trite little thing, the office. A desk. A phone. Chairs for me and guests. On the door, a simple script read:

Hitsugaya Toushiro

Private Detective

A giant plus sign separated the two lines. It was the only bit of style I allowed myself in the room.

It had been a slow day. I'd agreed to take on one case of spousal infidelity, and I had handled a bit of research for a colleague on the East coast. Enough to keep the landlord of my back for another month. Now I was waiting to hear back from another contact, and thought idly about pouring me another, when _she_ walked in.

An elegant coat over an elegant dress, with a neckline that would get her thrown out of sunday school. Long orange hair, the color of a beautiful sunset. A body with curves in all the right places, and a face that would give all the movie stars a run for their money. She was a woman who men would kill for, and in this town, that was not just a figure of speech. I had plenty of experience dealing with beautiful birds; they attracted problems like flames did with moths. But with her, keeping calm was real work.

* * *

"See? That's the kind of thing I mean," said Hitsugaya-taichou. "You turned an official report into a vehicle for praising yourself, there is no smoke in my office, and I'm fairly certain that I am not a private investigator."

"Details, captain. Nobody reads these reports that closely anyway. Did you like the logo?"

"The plus was a nice touch…" said Hitsugaya before he could stop himself. Damn it, he had lost this round.

* * *

"They told me you were the best" were her first words. „That's just what I need."

I chuckled. "What makes you think _the best_ would work in a place like this? I'm happy for any custom, but I think some people didn't like you very much when they sent you here."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short, Mister Hitsugaya," she said. "I've done my homework. Others take more money and appear in the papers, and they deliver exactly what their client wants to hear, fact or fiction be damned. They do their best to spare a lady all hints of unpleasantness. I know a million of these men, and they can go to hell for all I care. What I need someone who isn't afraid to upset the wrong people, and who will not try to shield me from the truth. From what I hear, you are that man. And that is the reason why you're still only working in an office like this."

I nodded vaguely. She had hit all the right spots to butter me up, and I didn't like it. If a client tells you how great he is, he's typically wrong, which is easy enough to handle. If a client tells you how great you are, he's lying, and he'll try to lie some more. I was going to have to be careful with this one.

"Sweet words ain't getting you a special deal, honey," I said carefully. "Now what's the job?"

She began rummaging in her purse. It was an elegant red design, probably bought in a little store somewhere in Karakura, Japan. Practical, too, and it might come in handy in a fight. Not cheap, but buying this had definitely not been a waste of time and money, no matter what some people might say.

Finally, she fished out a photograph of a young man. He had light hair, most of which was in front of his left eye, and a sorrowful expression on his face.

"Kira Izuru", she said. "A good friend of mine. He disappeared last night. I want to make sure that he doesn't get in trouble, and if he did already, I want to get him out."

"Any particular kind of trouble?" I asked, taking the picture. "That was quite a speech for a simple missing friend. More appropriate perhaps for a lover. Or is there any other reason you came to me and not the police? Don't get me wrong, I don't mind your dirty laundry, but it's good to know things like that up front. So if there was anything you _forgot_ to mention…"

"Do you accuse all your clients of lying?", she said, but from the look on her face, she didn't seem to actually mind. "What does that get you?"

"Any good PI assumes that all his clients are lying. I just say it out loud. What this gets me… well, you said it yourself." I made a vague hand gesture at the entire room.

She laughed, for a second. Then she moved in closer across the desk, so that I could smell her perfume. Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"Right until the start of the war, he worked with Ichimaru Gin."

A shudder ran over my back. The war was a distant thing for most of us. There were the posters of old man Yamamoto, saying "I want you for Soul Society Army", and the papers kept asking whether we should attack now or attack later, when we were stronger. There were guards at every corner. War was in the air, but it was a background smell, and we liked to keep it that way. Just one more day pretending that peace was possible, one more week, one more month, one more year. Her revelation brought to mind that for many unlucky souls, the war was already going on. Even here, in our cities.

"He was cleared of all charges, of course. Ichimaru probably betrayed him the most. But the police got curious, and if they learn that he disappeared, direction unknown, they may get ideas…"

I could imagine. Another traitor, following in Aizen's footsteps. The papers would love it. And the police would do their best to show that they could deal with spies by shooting first and asking questions later. Whether he was innocent or guilty wouldn't matter one bit to any of them. But it mattered to her, and whether I could hide it or not, it mattered to me. Too many people had been taken in by the city, trusted the wrong people, and then been spewed back out when they were no longer useful. I thought about a certain black-haired friend of mine. It was a damn shame.

"So will you take the job?", she asked.

"I'm all yours," I replied. "For $35 a day plus expenses."

* * *

"Now this part I like," said Hitsugaya.

"The appeal to your ideals, right?"

"No, the idea that I charge you money for wasting my time."

He decidedly ignored the red purse his vice captain held in her hand.

"Anyway, you know Soi Fon has access to these reports, right?" he continued. "I'm sure she'll love hearing your take on Seireitei's finest. Especially after you begged me to keep her out of this, for precisely this reason. Why go through all that trouble? You should just skip this and write straight that we found Kira in…"

"Shush, Captain. We don't want to spoil the ending, do we?"


	2. When faced with nobility

A couple of hell butterfly exchanges confirmed that Kira was not at work, nor at his home. I hadn't expected it here, but the number of cases that cleared themselves up like that was astonishing. So now it was time for some foot work.

Rokungai's 63th prided itself on being the respectable side of excessive alcohol consumption. It was where the middle class went to drink away their fear of falling down the social ladder, and deluded themselves that they might actually climb it one day. It was safe, relatively speaking. All bars had some sort of mob connection, which meant customers would not be getting fleeced on the street, but inside, and they'd get a bill for it.

Neon signs lined the streets, advertising singers like "The famous Otsuu-Chan!" or "Beautiful 8-Tears". These were not the kind of places where they would take off their clothes for money. Once they were out of their prime, though, many would move to that kind of place. If not worse.

My goal was "The Rose Pattern", a favorite of Kira's haunts. This early, it was still mostly empty, but the cigarette smoke already filled the air. On stage, a band was playing a quiet jazz number. The lead singer sang something about "Catharsis of Eternity". A sign said that they we were listening to "Nanao and the Lucky Eight" and that tips were appreciated.

I had half a mind to continue listening, but then I spotted the owner. Kyōraku Shunsui was hard to miss, seeing how he was wearing a business suit in pink, with the eponymous rose pattern embroidered on it. We had previous business dealings, so he greeted me cordially.

We talked a bit about the weather and the big game before it got serious. Nanao had changed to singing about "The Dark of the Bleeding Moon" while I handed him the picture.

"His name is Kira Izuru. Have you seen him around lately?"

"Izuru? Not a pleasant sight. He's alright, keeps to himself, but what he drinks… there's drinking to get happy, and drinking to forget that you're sad. I don't like customers of the second kind. But the way things are going in this town, they'll pro'lly be the majority for a while."

He took another look at the picture. Then he beckoned Nanao over. The band played on without her. It was hard to tell whether any of the patrons even noticed. You did not get drinking-to-be-happy customers this early.

"Why are you interrupting me, you useless bag of…" she began, but Kyoraku stopped her by holding up the picture.

"He was here last night, wasn't he?" he asked. "I didn't get a good luck, but he talked with you for a while, didn't he? Don't worry, Lil' Whitey here"—he nodded towards me—"ain't police, darling."

She shrugged. "Even if he was, I'm not sure if it would make a difference. He approached me between songs and asked whether I knew a good place to stay for the night. I didn't think much of it."

"What she means is she gave him the nastiest look in all the universe. Chilled him to the bone, sobered him right up. Works every time," said Kyoraku with a smile on his face.

"I have no such look," said Nanao, while shooting exactly that look at her boss. Clearly, this was a daily occurrence for them. My mood was starting to go downhill. I wasn't here for their flirting, and since I still had some hours in the day to do work, I couldn't afford to drink their booze either. And they had called me Lil' Whitey, a name I hated with a passion. I asked whether he had said anything else.

"No, nothing," said Kyoraku. "He ran straight out after that."

Nanao interrupted him. "That's not true. Before he left, he mumbled something like 'okay, then it's Kuchiki mansion'. I guess he was joking."

Kuchiki mansion? Oh, I hoped he was joking, too.

* * *

"So in your opinion, the entire eighth division is a bar?" asked Hitsugaya-taichou, while pointing to the report. "No, wait, actually Kyoraku-taichou would agree with that."

Matsumoto nodded. Hitsugaya decided not to mention Nanao's portrayal. That was something the vice-captains would have to talk about out between themselves. If this report ever saw the light of day, which obviously it wouldn't. Right?

"Oh, Rangiku, one more thing" continued Hitsugaya in his nicest voice. "Did you really write… Lil' Whitey?"

Matsumoto opened her eyes in shock at the changed tone and drop in ambient temperature. "Oh shi…"

* * *

Rich people, and I mean really rich people, have two ways of dealing with private investigators that come knocking at their door. The one kind will have their butler tell you to piss off if they're friendly, and release the dogs without warning if they're not. These guys know their rights, and they know my rights, which are absolutely nothing when it comes to making them say something. Even the most stupid rich guys have lawyers that can work this out for them.

The other kind of rich guy knows all that, too. But instead, he'll invite you in, listen to everything you have to say and answer your questions or explain very politely the very good reasons why he can't. This is the dangerous kind. You can be sure that the entire time, he'll be calculating a way to make a profit out of this. No matter what this way is, it never involves treating the PI right.

Kuchiki Byakuya was of the second type. My trusted secretary Matsumoto had sent me some background information via hell butterfly…

* * *

"Now, I have to stop right there. You can't be both the femme fatale and the trusted secretary! That's just not how it works!"

"Actually, Captain, I think that's exactly my job description. I bring both the support and the glamour."

"And you leave behind the paperwork. You can't be my secretary because if you were I'd immediately fire you."

* * *

…so I knew a bit about who I was facing.

The most important part was that this was old money, the kind that sooner or later gets called nobility. There were investments, buildings that got rented out, shares that paid off, but no one company or job that held it all together. Byakuya apparently spent most of his days trying to look as fabulous as possible, while the actual fights were raging on around him. It was easy to dismiss him as a pretty fool, but doing so would not come without its cost. He had friends in the highest of places. Or rather, his money had, and he knew both the difference and how to make use of it.

And in the cases where vague influence didn't help, he had his bodyguard. Abarai Renji was a notorious thug who used to run with a particularly vicious mob crew that called itself "11th division". These days, he was working for Kuchiki, and for some reason, he happened to be in the living room just as Byakuya was talking with me. Ostensibly he had something important to discuss right afterwards. Someone had forced a business suit on him, but the red spikey hair and the many tattoos were the real message here. He was a walking threat, and Byakuya had intended it this way.

To round it off, there was Byakuya's younger sister. Every sufficiently rich family had their scandal, and here, her name was Rukia. To all the world, she was demure, perfectly obedient, and a perfect representation of what a woman should be. Which usually meant they had a lover hidden somewhere. The gossip pages focused on some orange-haired doctor's son, but they liked printing pictures of her next to Abarai, too.

"Kira Izuru? I'm afraid I have never heard of the young man," said Byakuya. "I would not know what he might have expected to find here. It is certain that he never arrived. Have any of you seen him?" he asked Renji and Rukia. He expected them to shake their heads, and they shook their heads. Good training. Then he turned back to me.

"Are you sure that he wanted to go here? Maybe he was just joking. Kuchiki mansion is well known in some circles."

"Of course," I said in my most professional reassuring voice. "I just want to make sure that I have covered everything."

The rest of the discussion was uneventful. Byakuya asked carefully whether I had anything else that led me here, and I carefully denied it. In truth, I had simply wanted to get a feel for the place. Having some sort of connection to such an important family might pay off later, even if it was just "hey, remember the time we talked all peacefully?"

I left with well wishes and left a business card, in case they ever needed an independent investigator. There was no way they'd take me up on it; Byakuya probably had a contract with one of the big agencies. But he still accepted the card gracefully.

As I trundled away, I reviewed the case. The bar had led me here, which was, not surprisingly, a dead end. Kuchiki mansion wasn't really proverbial yet, but who knew what jokes Kira typically made? To find him, I would have to look more closely at what happened after he left the bar, and perhaps at the time before.

I was so lost in thought that I almost didn't notice the explosion of red hair in my way. Abarai apparently knew some shortcut through the grounds. The main house was not visible from here, nor was the road.

"Why'd you have to go and make trouble for me, huh?" he asked. "Lil' punk, sticking your nose into other people's business."

"What are you talking about? I thought you had nothing to do with this, right?" I made it sound like I was goading him, just for fun, but it was the honest truth. He did not bother to try and prove me wrong. Instead, he suddenly punched me in the stomach. I bent over in pain.

"Shut your mouth, damn it", he growled. "I know your kind. Always sneaking around, making trouble for honest hard-working people like me and Kira."

He punched me once more. This time, I could see it coming, but I was in too much pain to get out of the way in time. The punch connected with my side, so I lost my balance. He saw this, and decided to finish the job by kicking me in the leg. I fell over.

"Now my boss will be all like 'Renji, do you know anything about this?', and I'll be all like 'No'. But if Kira decides to show up all of a sudden, then where will I be?"

Abarai might have swung a mean punch, but he wasn't very good at hiding information. So apparently Kira wasn't here, but he and Renji were friends, and Kuchiki didn't know about it. How about that.

Although I would have enjoyed this realization a lot more if it didn't come at the same time as Abarai's boot right in my face. For a second, my head felt as if it would explode. Then everything went black.

* * *

"Seriously? That's not just a free interpretation, you invented half that stuff!" shouted Hitsugaya-taichou. "I came to Kuchiki-taichou's house precisely because I knew Renji and Kira are friends. Everyone knows that. And we didn't fight, we sort of bumped into each other, apologized, and that was it."

Hitsugaya had a suspicion that Renji had simply not seen him. Even though he never spoke about it, you simply could not be in denial about your own height, no matter how much the hair might add. But he would not tell Matsumoto about any of this. She was already teasing him as much as Hinamori at her worst. He was fairly certain that at least one of them was behind the "cutest captain certificate" he had received last week, although the pink crayon style suggested other co-conspirators, too.

One thing, though, he had to speak out about. His pride would not allow silence on this matter.

"…and finally, Renji couldn't beat me up like that," he said with a huff, crossing his arms in front of him. Matsumoto just had to laugh out loud.

"Oh, Captain, you know I respect you, and I think you're the most competent fighter in the Gotei 13. With Hyourinmaru, I would never, ever bet against you. But bare-handed? Against Renji? That's just a question of muscle mass. Frankly, I think Hinamori could beat you up."

"Hah! She wishes… It's all about speed."

Matsumoto showed that knowing smile once again, but this time Hitsugaya didn't mind. He had come too close to loosing his childhood friend, and he'd refuse to be embarrassed about those memories. Except for the nickname, of course.

"Come on, captain", said Matsumoto. "Don't you agree that this is more fun than normal paperwork?"

"Well, I do want to know whether I survive", said Hitsugaya with a sarcastic smirk. "But all this buildup is just a waste of everyone's time. We should just write that Kira…"

"Stop right there, captain. You don't want to spoil the ending, do you?"

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ Thank you for all the positive reaction to the first chapter! I honestly expected this to die off without anyone noticing, so that was a pleasant surprise._

_Special thanks to my sister Septdeneuf, for beta-reading this and the first chapter (and I'm sorry for forgetting to mention her there)!_


End file.
